


What the heart needs

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Courtship, Fluff, Gift Giving, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Colonel Viktor Watcher starts receiving unconventional "gifts". The mystery of them leads to unexpected developments in his life.





	What the heart needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haaska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haaska/gifts), [Salmaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmaka/gifts).



> With love and gratitude, to my two trashcan enablers <3

It starts strange: with a body at the doorstep of his apartment. He recognizes the face from a case he’s been spending days and nights over, and that face is adorned with a wonderfully huge black eye.

Then, a week later, another body shows up, but at the HQ this time. With a card pinned to the front of the (bloodied) jacket: a big V crossed by a swift horizontal strike near the pointy bottom.

Then, the “gifts” start appearing fairly regularly.

Sometimes it is clearly meant as a taunt, a challenge, when it’s someone Viktor has been hunting for a long time, closing in with such difficulty... Other times it’s even more blatant, with Viktor, for once, smoking outside — and the body dropping from above and splattering him with blood. A neighbor, taking a smoke near him, too, looks at him getting on his knees to clean the blood. “Again?”

Viktor sighs, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

This is Ophir. Groaning beaten bodies in bloodied clothes inspire only morbid curiosity, not fear or panic.

At some point, the bodies (usually alive, sometimes not) start appearing with flowers.

He notices the pattern, if it can be called that. Those showing up by the HQ are more... “formal”, sometimes with incriminating evidence pinned to them (the evidence Viktor needs to finish the case). Those showing up at Viktor’s doorstep are more “personal” (they are the ones that appear with flowers).

(The flowers are always peonies, of different sizes, colors and shapes. He likes the two-colored ones that appear once in a while: they have a delicate sweet aroma and they are astonishingly beautiful, folded like tissue paper, the petals red at the heart but fading into stark white by the edge.)

At one point a bouquet appears on his desk in the HQ — but there is no body, and he is mildly worried. He strokes the delicate petals (placed in a simple glass jar), then goes through the doors. Henry looks up.

“Lieutenant? Have you placed the perpetrator in the interrogation cell? Or, perhaps, the body in the morgue?”

Their gaze flicks to the door. Of course they know he’s talking about the flowers. “There was no body, sir.”

This is even more worrying. Someone must have stolen it right from their doorstep. “We have a breach of security perimeter, then.”

Henry has a somewhat… _solidified_ expression on their face. They put down their pen. “There was no breach, sir, the bouquet was delivered by a floristic firm.”

He frowns. This is most puzzling, he should check the cameras. “Then where is the body?”

Henry sighs. They sigh like this when one of the agents is being particularly stubborn at heeding Henry’s advice. “No body, sir. Just the bouquet.”

It makes no sense.

But when he stays until the dead of the night, the flowers put him at ease — a spot of gentle color in his office, not drawing attention to itself, but providing comfort when he needs it.

Viktor starts finding... other things. A chocolate bar he most certainly couldn’t have placed in a drawer of his desk. Mostly because he doesn’t buy chocolate bars for himself. A box of candied oranges. A jar of... tea leaves? (Long and with silver “fur”, and when he steeps them, there is a delicate flowery aroma.)

He does some detecting and comes to the conclusion that none of his agents could have procured such things, because they are either a) brands that are difficult to get and/or b) unaffordable on an agent’s salary.

He changes locks to his office. Another chocolate bar appears right the next day, and someone has stolen all the tea powder from the HQ cafeterias, replacing it with high quality tea.

Maybe someone wants to drug him? The first chocolate bar, when he tried it, resulted in the world fading away for a few moments, but it was not like being drugged. It was so good he tried to break it into small squares and take them only every other day. It certainly didn’t taste like any chocolate he’d ever had before.

He did send the chocolate to the lab (just a couple of squares), but results were: nothing but chocolate, though very fine chocolate, sir, you wouldn’t find it in regular stores.

What puzzled him was that the chocolate contained flowers (purple), but the lab experts said it was fine, it was peonies, the edible kind. It’s called “designer chocolate”, sir, handmade.

Maybe it’s not the chocolate but the flowers? Henry said the bouquet was checked for explosives, but there are certain drugs... Maybe he’s allergic to peonies and simple doesn’t know it. But the question is, how does his mysterious attacker know it?

Medical examination gives a firm conclusion that he has no allergies.

The next time, he finds a box with small chocolate squares of many different varieties. He takes notes in his black book: “Liked: w/oranges, dark w/salt, w/peony petals, w/ginger, w/caramel, w/nougat. Didn’t like: sweet white choc., w/nuts. Neutral: everything else. The portable format: good.”

The next time, there are only those of the varieties he liked.

It must be someone at the HQ. It must be. He should have a talk with his agents. He summons them swiftly and measures his paces and facial expressions and gestures as carefully as he chooses words, and judging by the faces, the agents have heeded his words.

But the little gifts (including bodies) keep coming (once in a while), and after much thinking, he arrives to the only possible conclusion: the culprit is Henry.

It’s the only explanation to the bodies (although sometimes they are related to the cases Henry cannot possibly be aware of), and to many other things and, of course, it’s Viktor’s own fault because he’s apparently failed to establish boundaries.

There were a couple of similar incidents, with young agents developing a... crush on Viktor — or rather, on one of his personas, but a good talk helped.

And now... He doesn’t exactly know how to breach the topic. He doesn’t want to discharge Henry, they are one of the few people Viktor trusts. And he’s aware their relationship hasn’t been strictly based on subordination, Henry is allowed many things Viktor doesn’t allow anyone else. He knows Henry’s loyalty goes beyond the simple loyalty to their commanding officer...

But they need to talk.

***

Henry expects a discussion of a hard case, the Colonel sometimes needs a new perspective, and they are always ready to listen. But Viktor seems to be... hesitant to speak? The Colonel motions to the armchair, and few guests are offered this comfort, but Henry is not guest here. They sink into it, but keep their attention on Viktor.

Viktor leans on the desk, legs crossed at the ankles, and doesn’t look at them. Henry knows that Viktor won’t look at them until he finds the right words for whatever he wants to say.

Henry waits.

“Lieutenant. There is an important issue I need to raise. It concerns the recent... the recent appearances in my office and by my apartment.”

Oh. Oh, has he finally figured out it’s—

The gray eyes turn to them. “I am certain you know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, sir,” they say carefully.

“The perpetrators and the bodies and... other things.”

_‘Other things’. Oh god. It’s ‘chocolate and flowers and tea and coffee’, Colonel, why are you like—_

“I’d like you to stop.”

Henry’s thoughts do stop. “Pardon?”

Viktor takes a deep breath, avoiding their gaze again. “I understand that you and I have a somewhat unorthodox — for our organization — relationship, and that you... care about my well-being...”

“Sir.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, please don’t think that I do not...”

“Sir.”

“But I’d like you to—”

_“Sir.”_

Finally, he’s listening. They try to figure out how to do it properly. “Sir. It’s not me.”

The lost expression on Viktor’s face is certainly unusual. “Not you?”

“Not me. And I’m not in the habit of lying to you, as you well know.” God, they’d like to give Viktor a few nice things, but they know it wouldn’t be taken well, and so they do what they can. Do well by Viktor in other ways.

“Then... who might it be?”

“I’m sure it’s an outsider, sir. The talk you had with the agents certainly discouraged them from trying to imitate the mysterious... entity. For starters,” they say, trying to appeal to the Colonel’s logic, “I wasn’t familiar even with the half of the perpetrators brought to your doorstep.” _Or that you like flowers. I’m certain you weren’t aware of that yourself, sir._

Viktor is already frowning in that subtle way that is genuine. Already thinking, assembling the pieces in new ways. “It is someone powerful and dangerous. Most likely, keeping me under surveillance. I don’t feel like I’m being followed, but that only proves they are very good at it. Have you checked who ordered the flowers?”

“Yes. A dead end, sir. And sometimes, ah...”

“Speak honestly, Henry.”

“Some flowers are not from the florist. Those big ones, double-colored. They are delivered by usual messenger services, but they appear to be... homegrown.”

“A good observation, Henry.”

Oh god. Years have passed, and they still feel elated at the Colonel’s praise. They know it’s earned.

“An inside help?”

And this back and forth exchange. One of the best parts of being here, one of the things Henry treasures about serving with Viktor.

“Unlikely, sir. Since the... occurrences have started, most of the agents here rotated and either gone on out of town missions or returned from them. Only a few remained in the city for the whole duration, and all of them engaged in cases.”

“Indeed.”

“And why,” they ask carefully, “do you suspect an insider?”

Shadow forgive them, but watching Viktor being lost is... not entertaining and not cute, but it’s _something_.

“Just a... hunch, Henry. The issue of tea, for example.”

_A hunch. That’s what you call the chocolate appearing on your desk out of nowhere?.._

“Oh. Yes, sir, I understand what you mean.”

“We changed the locks.”

“Yes, sir. And they are, supposedly, pick-proof.”

“Indeed. This is most puzzling. And no evidence on the cameras.”

“None, sir. Whoever it is, they are very good.”

There is a glint in the Colonel’s eyes, his face sharp. The thrill of the chase, a good challenge. “It appears so, Henry. I’ll find out how — but most important is _why_ , and here, I am at a loss.”

By the Shadow.

“A genuine admirer, sir?” they suggest, trying to hide their hope that Viktor would consider this angle. “With somewhat unusual methods, I admit, and going to great lengths—” _as you well deserve, sir_ “—but still...”

But Viktor says firmly, “No, certainly not. I think we can ignore the Vory ‘V’ on the cards coming with bouquets, it is designed to mislead. Of course it’s not one of the Vory. Thank you, Henry. And I apologize for presuming. You may leave.”

“I’m glad to be of help, sir. If you need to bounce ideas off of me…”

“Yes. I know I can rely on you.”

Henry is so dazed after the whole conversation. Viktor is certainly the most fucking brilliant man they know. Cracking the most unsolvable cases and navigating the fetid bog of Abundance politics and keeping the whole Bureau going and...

In one word, brilliant. The sharpest, the shiniest diamond, the guard dog of Ophir.

And he’s so close. So close, Shadow: Viktor does call upon them to exchange ideas, and Viktor has noticed the many clues and made theories as to how the mysterious guest avoids the cameras — and he falls flat on the _why_. Not because he’s stupid — but because he can’t think, he can’t conceive that someone might be genuinely interested in him.

(It makes Henry think on the past. They were lucky to have met Viktor, for Viktor to intervene, although some damage had been done.

Viktor himself had nobody to shield him.)

The only thing to do, Henry decides, is to wait. They hope it doesn’t come crashing upon Viktor.

***

One day, the bouquet comes with an invitation to, Viktor finds out, is a high-end (but not ridiculous) restaurant. He dresses up, and apparently there is a reservation for “Mr Watcher” and it’s not just a secluded booth, it’s a separate room with a soft view of the city from an angle he’s never seen before. Everything is paid for... But his date never comes.

And yet, he enjoys himself. Enjoys the seclusion, tries new foods.

There’s a vase with a single peony, double-colored, on his table.

It was hectic few weeks, and Viktor needed the quiet. He asks the staff whether he can leave a message for his... host.

It is simply _Thank you._

Walking through the city afterward, Viktor notices familiar double-colored flowers. Inexplicably, it’s a bush growing on someone’s balcony. It might be just a similar variety — but he’s done his research, and he knows that his particular flowers are not only uncommon — it’s a unique hybrid, the bush most likely one of a kind.

His heart is beating so fast.

But he decides to walk away.

Viktor knows that whoever it is, they probably enjoy this little game as it is. Confronting them could scared them away, drive them away from him.

He tries to place himself in their shoes. He would hate to be exposed like this. So far no harm has come from it (except for a few agents literally tripping over moaning bodies). He would allow that person to come out on their own terms. Even if they would ultimately decide to remain a mystery.

***

Anton isn’t sure why he’s doing this anymore. It started as a way to challenge the Director, then, on a whim, he sent flowers, after the Director nearly busted his gun deal.

And now...

Now, he likes the sight of Viktor rolling his eyes and sighing and starting to roll up his sleeves when he finds another “gift” at his doorstep. But first, Viktor picks the flower tied to the perp, and he closes his eyes when he brings it to his nose, and there is that smile that lights up his eyes, and...

Anton is aware he’s doomed.

When he finally decides to come clean about it... He’s been getting tangled more and more in it, in Viktor, and he isn’t sure about anything anymore. But he knows that Viktor, just by the nature of being an agent, is paranoid, so Anton doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. What if Viktor has been uncomfortable all along? And just faked his smiles and... And everything.

And of course Anton can just stop without saying anything: it feels bad, like cheating, like... Bad, in any case.

So, there’s only one course of action.

He puts on one of his embroidered shirts and his Vory jacket over it, picks another of his peonies, the last of the season, and goes to Viktor’s apartment.

The whole thing hasn’t been easy. Viktor didn’t disappoint: locks changed, camera angles shifted, and Anton had to use his everything to continue. To find new interesting flavors to bring, to avoid being detected... So fascinating, so challenging.

But it seems it was too captivating, because he missed the fact that Viktor was displeased. Why would Viktor be flattered by his attention? He was just tolerating it, until he would solve the puzzle...

Anton realizes he’s overthinking and pushing himself into a corner.

Whatever happens, happens.

Maybe Viktor isn’t home at all, maybe—

But the door opens. He is _not_ holding the flower in front of himself like a shield. And he looks into Vik’s eyes (so tired, he notes automatically; again). And then looks away and holds out the flower. “This is for you.”

Vik closes his fingers on the stem carefully and, yes, closes his eyes when he brings it to his face, inhaling, then looks at Anton, searching his face.

Anton tries not to fidget under this gaze.

There is that smile in Vik’s eyes. “It is you. I hoped...”

Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, _ohgods_...

Vik shakes his head with the smile now curving his lips, and steps aside. “Come in. I think I owe you a lunch. No body this time,” Vik chuckles, and gods, isn’t that a handsome sound.

“Well. If you don’t count me...”

“I can count you, Mr Rogue.”

He watches Vik and can’t look away, even though he should, because Vik is padding around barefoot, in soft pants and a plain white shirt, the inks like dark weavings under the cotton, and ohgods, the nape of his neck, his hair is damp, he must have just gotten out of shower...

“You may leave you jacket there, Anton.”

“Y-yes, thank you.”

“What is all that chocolate?”

“Custom made...”

“Ah. That’s why I can’t find it anywhere. I liked the ‘bullets’. Is that what they are called?”

“Yes...”

He feels a little dizzy. Vik has admitted him into his apartment — and instead of studying the surroundings, he can only watch Viktor himself: finding a vase — actually, a wine bottle — for the flower, putting the improvised vase on the counter in the kitchen, turns it to arrange the flower however he wants... (Such elegant hands with long fingers. Gods.)

“I see,” Vik purrs, “that you like peonies very much.”

Ohgods, Viktor is looking at him, looking him up and down, oh...

Heat creeps up Anton’s neck. “Yes. They are beautiful.” His shirt is embroidered with giant peonies, and it’s so stupid, he’s so stupid, he’s—

“They are indeed. May I ask a question?”

A hundred questions, a thousand questions — it’s that Anton isn’t sure he can find the voice to answer even one. “Yes.”

“Did you plan on coming to the restaurant?”

Of course, it is a question he doesn’t expect. He rubs the back of his neck. “I did, initially. But... It didn’t feel right. I wanted to give you a quiet moment, but with my presence it wouldn’t be quiet.” Anton pauses, leaning on the couch a little. Then confesses, “I didn’t want to trap you. I didn’t want to make it about myself. It was about you.”

Something flickers in Viktor’s eyes, but too quick for Anton to decipher it.

He overcomes his dumbstruck state quickly. It feels as though he knows Vik. They flirt and joke so easily, talk over the simple lunch. They wash dishes together (he is aware of Vik’s gaze on his tattoos).

And then Vik, leaning on the counter, long legs crossed, lights a cigarette ( _ohgods_ ) and says, “I should arrest you.”

He tenses up, ready to physically fight his way out, what did he do wrong?! “On what charge?” he manages to say.

Vik taps the ash off, looks to the side. He’s so beautiful it’s unbelievable. “Don’t know yet. The list of things allegedly committed, condoned, organized or sponsored by you is very long. But.” He looks at Anton again. Eyes of steel — and yet so wet and beautiful. They light up with his smiles. “I don’t want to. And that’s the problem.”

His hands are shaking, and he gets up from the couch. “I’m leaving. Forgive me for imposing myself, for... everything.” He gets into the hallway and grabs his jacket.

“Tosha. Wait.”

But he doesn’t turn. “Wait for what? I know it was... It was stupid of me, all of that. Sooner or later you would have found out, or... I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable, I left you no choice, and now I’m... I’m just sorry.”

“Why did you do it?”

The words stop him, but the tone even more so. Vik sounds strained.

“Wanted to tease you, at first. Then... wanted to ease your load, you work so much. Wanted to give you something good.”

“That is not _the_ reason.”

He is aware that Vik is standing right behind him.

“I don’t...” He sighs. “I wanted to know you better. As a person, not as a function.”

“Did you?” There is some... breathlessness in Vik’s voice, something raw.

“I believe I did.”

“And what do you make of me?”

“The Colonel is my enemy. But you? To you, I want to bring all the flowers.”

“I _am_ the Colonel.”

He turns to face Vik. And shadowed as Vik’s face is, the pained expression doesn’t escape Anton’s notice. It is in the eyes.

“True, but also... The Colonel has exaggerated gestures and expressions. They are not exaggerated by common standards, but they are so different from how you are when you are not the Colonel. The Colonel smiles only with his lips — you can smile with your mouth being a straight line. You are very expressive — but in a very subtle way.”

Vik looks stunned, and he continues (what does he have to lose anyway now?), “The Colonel mirrors gestures of those around them to put them at ease. I don’t think anyone notices, even your agents, except for Henry — but you never mirror Henry. The Colonel can unsettle people with his silence alone, and it’s more terrifying than any shouting. The Colonel... does good, too. I know there was so much corruption in the Bureau before you because the Bureau was severely underfunded, and you changed that. I know you protect your own as much as you can. The Colonel finds the scum among the politicians and makes them face their own shit, and he isn’t afraid of anyone and cannot be bought. He shoots without flinching. But you. _You_ , I think, are afraid.” He reaches out to Vik’s face — but drops his hand, clenching it into a fist. “I think you are afraid of the Colonel.”

“I am,” Vik rasps, “not afraid.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s the wrong word, forgive me. But there is a... An abyss in you. I know it, because I have it, too. We are so alike, Vitya. I tried to stop myself from thinking that, maybe I was mistaken — but I think I’m not mistaken in this. You can detain me, detective, but not arrest me, you don’t have the grounds for that. But... I don’t see why we have to go through that. If you don’t want any of that to continue, just say so, and I promise I will stop and we won’t see each other again other than during our professional encounters. But I...” He sighs. “You know, I’d like to meet for lunch some time again? Properly. Just talk. I spent so much watching and I wanted to discuss so much. You are so _interesting_ , Vitya.”

Vik searches his face again, and Anton awaits his verdict.

“I don’t understand it,” Vik says at last. “But I intend to find out. Next week? Can’t tell the day yet. Work is unpredictable.”

He smiles. He’s ready to kiss Vik, but... Oh, he’d have to think about this desire later. “Yes. Same, Vitya. I’ll get in touch. Thank you for the lunch.”

***

Next week, when they agree on the time and the place (through an exchange of notes, delivered doorstep to doorstep), he folds a flower from scented paper. After so many frustratingly failed attempts.

***

At one point Viktor with his agents bust the Vory deal (again), and Anton was there, too, and course he threw himself right in the middle of it... And they agreed beforehand for a ~~dinner~~ late lunch later that day.

Viktor goes there because... He doesn’t know, but he just needs something close to normality, something away from violence. And he’s sure Anton won’t come.

But Anton does, a little late, apologizing (Viktor can see him wincing when he moves a certain way).

Over the course of the late lunch Viktor’s eyelids start drooping. He’s warm, he’s safe...

“Tired?”

“A hard day at work.”

Anton smiles. “Same. Come here?”

They are seated on a small couch, and he does come closer and lays his head on Anton’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at discussing things today.”

“Me neither. We don’t have to talk, Vitya.”

Anton shifts, and Viktor lifts his head. Anton reaches into his jacket and takes out a chocolate bar. “For you, Vitya.”

He laughs. “Is this why you were late?”

Anton looks aside, and color blooms on his cheeks. “Yes. Sorry.”

“It’s good. It’s my favorite. Thank you.” He takes it and presses a kiss to Anton’s cheek, then lowers his head on Anton’s shoulder.

Anton wraps an arm around his waist.

Viktor isn’t sure where it will lead them. But he has a few clues.


End file.
